


One Shot Espresso

by Soaring_Ren (Robin_Knight)



Series: Coffee Shop AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Autism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: There was no greater thrill than a forbidden romance.Keith thought the greatest challenge was the secrecy, but that was before Shiro returned broken and beaten.





	1. Chapter 1

“Here you are, chaps!”

Shiro looked up to the bright face of Coran. The middle-aged man looked well, with a smile that made his moustache bristle with life and the corners of his eyes wrinkle, and his red hair was slicked back in a neat and almost modern style. He wore a blue-and-white uniform of his design, which was quite striking and form fitting, and the blue apron about his waist was emblazoned with the name of the café: Altean Cuisine. It was a look that suited him.

The café owner balanced the tray perfectly on one gloved hand, as he placed down their drinks before them in the cosy – yet spacious – corner of the café. Keith placed his hands around his hot chocolate with a smile, as he let the hot glass warm his hands, and Shiro looked down at his espresso with a craving that always came this early in the morning. There was a beautiful aroma from before them, only enhanced by the homemade cookies slid centre of the table, and – much to Keith’s apparent relief – Coran even remembered the soymilk.

It was a good morning to relax. The sun was beginning to rise outside the window, sending a gorgeous glow of red and orange light through the café windows, and it cast intricate shadows on the walls through the wooden lattices to the cubicles. Allura moved in the distance with quick movements from the kitchen to the counter, as she brought out delicious looking slices of cake and various buns. Shiro caught the scent of her perfume with a smile.

“Thank you, Coran,” said Shiro. “It looks delicious.”

Coran gave a mock salute and a playful wink, as he brought the tray to his chest. It looked almost like a shield, as he marched with a quick pace over to the counter, where he took to cleaning with far more energy than had to be normal at such an early hour. Shiro was still constantly amazed at how quickly Keith would dart out of bed every morning, where he acted like it was almost a race to the front door, and – while Shiro was often still dressing and yawning – Keith would always be standing in the hallway with a look that screamed: ‘well’?

Those mornings were few and far between. They were lucky during the holidays, although there were no excuses for being seen in pubic, which often meant many dates spent with takeout in front of a television screen, but – on the flipside – term times allowed them ‘study sessions’ in places like cafes and museums. It was a small blessing, which Shiro cherished with every fibre of his person. Keith looked so handsome that morning, too.

“It’s just four months,” promised Shiro.

Keith looked up over his hot-chocolate; the fingerless gloves and short jacket were perfect upon him, both secret gifts from Shiro over the winter holidays, and he remembered the smile that Keith wore on how Shiro remembered his aversion to too much tactile sensation. The worst thing for Keith, however, was an abundance of audio stimulus. Shiro learnt the hard way that nightclubs were a massive no-no for their dates, which had been a shame as several of the teachers went drinking with their students, especially in the humanities department.

In the end, it worked out for the best. The quiet atmosphere of his apartment allowed for more conversation, while occasionally allowing for actual study sessions, and that in turn had led to learning more about Keith in the process. Shiro looked to Keith and smiled. He saw a man that needed time to process his emotion, who wore a stoic façade to hide his confusion and vulnerability, and who often made too much or little eye-contact.

Right then, Keith was staring him down. It was an unconscious gesture, but it enabled Shiro to get a good look at those blue-grey eyes and see in them hidden depths, and it was no surprise that he often struggled to maintain friendships. The black hair helped hide his facial expressions just slightly, shaggy in front from his mullet, and – while slightly out-of-fashion it suited him well and started to grow out into a more usual style. Shiro waited for Keith to make the first move, as he gave him time to think about the situation.

“You said four months in each country,” said Keith.

“That’s right,” admitted Shiro. “It’ll be eight months in total. I know we’ve only been dating a year, so it’s a _lot_ to ask, but I really want to give this long-distance thing a shot. You’ll be starting your second year tomorrow, so you’ll be swamped with work, and – well – you might not even notice me missing for the most part. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, but what about the _next_ time they ask you to work abroad?” Keith slammed his cup of coffee onto the saucer. “I can’t go with you, Shiro. I’m just a student, we aren’t even supposed to be _dating_ , and am I just supposed to give you up every time you come back?”

“That’s something you have to decide, Keith. I can’t decide whether this is worth it for you, but I can tell you one thing . . . it’s worth it for me. I applied for this research grant before we began dating; I had no idea that you would walk into my life just a few weeks later, sitting in the front of my classroom with those eyes looking back at me. Look, we can web-cam every night, text throughout the day, and I’ll call you every weekend, too. I’ll even write.”

Keith gave a long exhale of breath. He looked across the room, where – as Shiro followed his gaze – he saw him look upon Coran and Allura, who were watching them with a mild curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of reticence. There were few other people in the café, mostly strange faces and stranger habits, and most of those people were a blur of typing or whispers, each on some sort of device or finishing some form of work. Keith reached across the table, where he made to hold Shiro’s hand with a gentle touch.

Fearful of being seen, Shiro pulled his hand away.

The look of rejection was apparent on Keith; the younger man opened his eyes wide, as his lips parted just enough to make them almost a temptation, and his shoulders squared with a great deal of tension. Shiro bit his lip until he tasted blood. He knew that it was extremely difficult for Keith to touch people, so much so that he could barely hug his very mother, and here was Shiro pulling away from him. Shiro ran his hand over his neck.

“We can’t do that here,” he whispered. “If anyone sees us –”

“Why do I feel like your dirty little secret?”

“Keith, if we get caught -?” Shiro shook his head. “I’d lose my job. You would be expelled, too, and your scholarship would go to complete waste. Look, I actually do feel really bad about leaving you like this, which is why I went to the travel agent this morning. I had to make a special appointment, as they needed to open up especially for me, but . . . ah . . .”

There was a strange look from Keith, as he tried to analyse the situation. It was obvious by the way those eyes traced over every part of Shiro’s body, as he assessed the body language and gestures with a strange detachment, and – unable to put off the inevitable – Shiro slid his hand inside the inner pocket of his jacket. He removed a small envelope, which he slid across the table with a hiss of paper upon wood, until it rested a few inches from Keith. The cookies sat untouched between them, while the espresso sent waves of steam into the air.

“What’s this?” Keith asked.

“It’s two tickets to Greece,” said Shiro. “I booked a holiday for us over Easter, so we can go out without worrying what people think, because no one will know us. If you don’t want to be long-distance, that’s okay . . . I put you down as lead passenger, so you can always take someone else with you. I don’t want you to think of this as a –”

“Bribe?” Keith smiled and looked at the envelope. “If you were going to bribe me into staying with you, I’d hope you’d do it with an A grade on every essay from here on out. Look, in all seriousness, I really need time to think about this, Shiro. It’s . . . a lot.”

“I understand. I have two weeks before I leave, so take all the time you need.”

“I really want to make a shot out of this, Shiro, but long-distance?”

“It’s not that long when our hearts are so close.”

Keith gave a hearty laugh. It made Shiro laugh in turn, until he saw Coran look over in their direction with a somewhat suspicious expression. Shiro covered his mouth with his hand, while he slid the envelope against Keith’s hand, and – understanding the gesture – Keith slid the papers into the bag by his feet. It was nice to break the tension with laughter, but he knew that he was asking a lot of Keith. The silence that followed was far from awkward, although it was admittedly uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help but clench his fists in fear.

“I’ll still love you,” promised Shiro. “No matter what you decide.”

Keith blushed and looked away with a sad smile.

“I don’t deserve you,” whispered Keith.

* * *

Keith felt his heart sink into his stomach.

It was a cold and dangerous amount of information to process; he felt his throat cease and clench, until he began to choke on the air, while his skin felt as if ice water had been poured over him in a rush of overwhelming sensations. He fell into the chair just in time. The blood seemed to leave his head in one rush, so that his vision blurred and became a mass of flashing lights and shapes, and his muscles felt too weak to allow him to stand.

The chair in the office was too comfortable. It lured him into a false sense of security, as if it sought to mock him for his horror at the situation, and he realised that the fabric cushions spread over the metal frame in all directions. He looked about for something to calm down; Shiro usually kept noise-cancelling headphones in his desk, while a lava lamp sat conspicuously in the corner, but to admit to _needing_ those items would be to admit to needing _Shiro_ , and – so far – Iverson didn’t suspect they were a couple. Keith swallowed hard.

“I know you’re hiding something from me,” said Keith.

Iverson gave a long sigh, as he leaned against Shiro’s desk. It took all of Keith’s self-control not to push away the head of the department, even as his hands clenched into tight fists, causing the fabric of his gloves to crinkle and make small noises with the movement. The office smelled musty, with doors and windows unopened for over three weeks now, and the photographs on Shiro’s desk reflected images of Japan back upon Keith. He fought back the trembles of his body, the pain in his chest, and the tears to his eyes.

“Where is he? Where is Shiro?”

Iverson looked away in what looked like shame. It was difficult to read his expressions through so many emotions, which made it difficult to concentrate on translating his gestures and facial movements, and – as Keith tried to process so many different pieces of information – he caught the way Iverson folded his arms. _That usually means someone is defensive_ , said Shiro’s voice in his memory. Keith drew in a deep breath and blinked away the tears. He needed to be strong, because he couldn’t lose face before such a man.

The older man continued to lean against the desk, where his dark skin looked all the darker framed against the light from the window, which shone behind him and combined with Keith’s hazy vision to made Iverson look almost like a silhouette. Keith noticed the strange beard move, as Iverson moved his lips in an odd pattern, and – as he made to speak – he made a smacking sound with his lips that caused Keith to flinch out of instinct.

“We told you that Shiro was captured –”

“I know,” spat Keith. “You also said it was the ‘risk’ of doing research near a war zone. It’s been three weeks since he left and you’re only _now_ telling me? What the hell is wrong with you! How long was he with them? How did he even escape? Oh God, I don’t even -! I mean, did they think he was a soldier or spy or what? I – I want to see him! _I want to see him_!”

“Listen, Keith, I know this is a shock to you –” Keith gave a sharp laugh “– but you’re just a student and there was no reason to tell you anything. We’re only telling you now, because Shiro has finally come around and insisted we inform you. That’s all.”

“Shiro told you to tell me? So he’s okay?”

There was a low sigh from Iverson. He pushed himself away from the desk, a gesture that caused Keith to lean forward on his seat and brace his forearms upon his knees, and – as Iverson grabbed a chair from nearby – he kept thinking back to Shiro. The older man was a creature of habit, such as needing green tea to sleep or enjoying traditional cuisine at the weekends, and he doubted very much that Iverson or the nurses would know Shiro’s habits, assuming he was strong enough to keep them up in his ill state.

Iverson grabbed a spare chair and placed it backward before Keith; he sat down and straddled its back, where he folded his arms in an infuriating manner, so that he appeared very much like an old man trying to be young and ‘hip’. It was enough for Keith to look upward. He raised his head just slightly, as he fought the urge to storm away or cause a scene, but his heart was racing in his ears, deafening him to sense. Iverson asked in a cold voice:

“Why did Shiro want us to tell you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why – out of everyone – did he want us to tell _you_?” Iverson cocked his head with a raised eyebrow. “Shiro’s next-of-kin are all in Japan, so the school was down as an emergency contact, which is all fine and above board, but what I don’t get is why Takashi Shirogane would want a _student_ to know before anyone else. Is there something I need to know?”

Keith jumped to his feet. The pounding in his ears drowned out all other noises, while his heart physically hurt in his chest, and – as he glared down at the department head – he felt a sickening sweat build up under his arms and around his neck. Iverson displayed no sign of being the slightest bit intimidated, even as Keith began to pace back and forth with frantic movements of his hands and various shakes of his head. There was a drama class outside in the courtyard, where they made noise, and he wanted to scream at them . . . be rid of them . . .

“How the fuck should I know?” Keith spat.

“You watch your language, boy!” Iverson warned, with a pointed finger. “The past three weeks I’ve spent worried sick about Shiro’s disappearance; I sent him out there knowing he was the best in his field, that he was the best our school had to offer, and I have to live with the guilt that he barely made it out of the airport before being jumped! He’s back, but we’ve spent the past three days since his return locked in a detailed investigation and –”

“So you get a fucking monopoly on feeling concerned?” Keith slammed his fist into his hand. “He was my -! He was my friend . . . I had extra-curricular study sessions with him, I stayed behind after class to help him out, and I haven’t slept for _three weeks_ from this bullshit!”

“Exactly, which is why I’m concerned. No other student reacted like this; we offered counselling to any student that needed it, but only four students needed that counselling. Out of those four students, all were third-year students and two were working as teachers’ aides underneath Shiro. You -? You’re barely a month into your second year.”

Keith had no comeback to the unspoken accusation. He couldn’t explain that there was chemistry during their first day of class, just like he couldn’t explain how one date led into having the spare key to Shiro’s apartment, and he couldn’t explain how they planned to vacation together and work things out long-distance. There was one simple truth to those like Iverson: Keith was just a student. They couldn’t understand his apparent ‘over-reaction’, which was why Keith snapped when he heard the old man openly state:

“If you’re screwing him, that’s one more investigation that –”

Iverson gave a visible flinch. Keith turned and struck the office wall; the force of the blow was enough to draw blood to his knuckles, while the plaster on the brick wall flaked away, and – when he pulled back his hand – he was hunched over and panting for breath. A tear fell over his cheek, as he turned to face Iverson. Keith raised his hand, bloodied and in great pain, and pointed his index finger a few inches from the old man’s face in a silent threat.

“You can’t prove anything,” whispered Keith.

“No, I can’t.” Iverson looked him over. “I’ll keep my suspicions quiet for now; Shiro has lost too much already, so the last thing he needs is a suspension from work and an investigation into whatever _this_ is between you both. You’re taking time off, Keith. We’ll call it compassionate leave for now, as you’re clearly . . . stressed.”

“‘Stressed’? Is that what we’re calling this?” Keith gave a cold laugh. “I’ll call it being fucking kept in the dark about everything! Three weeks ago I said goodbye to Shiro here in this office, the next day you told us he was missing, and today you tell me –”

“Today I’m telling you to cool off. Shiro’s lost enough already . . .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith asked.

There was no reply from Iverson. The older man simply stood up, before he put back the chair in its usual spot in front of Shiro’s desk, and – with a heavy sigh – he walked past Keith without even a single spoken word. Keith felt the rejection deep in his heart, as he followed Iverson to the office doors. He struck his hand hard against the doorframe, as he watched the old man walk down the corridor with a quick pace, still ignoring him . . . still leaving him in the dark . . . he no longer cared that he was in public. He didn’t care about the crowd.

“ _What’s that supposed to mean_?” Keith screamed.

* * *

“Please, you have to let me inside.”

Keith looked to the nurse with desperation. The nametag on her blue scrubs read ‘Shay’, while she spoke with the accent of someone who had learnt English fluently from formal lessons and one heck of a good teacher, and yet he couldn’t quite work out where from the planet she originated. Shay looked beautiful beyond reason, with black skin and full features, but she also seemed to hide in on herself. Keith depicted certain insecurity about her.

The hospital corridor held the horrible smell of bleach and disinfectant, while everything was such a stark white that it hurt Keith to look around, and – as he tried to keep calm – he noticed that cacophony of sounds that threatened to overwhelm him. There were porters moving to and fro with either empty beds or trolleys filled with equipment, while nurses and doctors ran back and forth with various muttered complaints, and he could hear whirring noises and loud beeps from inside the wards. He wanted cover his ears and hide.

Keith looked to the door to Shiro’s ward; it was locked with a keypad and an intercom, which required explicit permission to get inside, but – through the glass panels – he could see his boyfriend lying on a far bed. There were blankets pulled up to his chest, while his hair was almost entirely white, and Keith could make out various machines hooked up to him, which monitored his heart and blood pressure and whatever else they could manage.

“I am sorry, Sir, but visitation is restricted,” said Shay.

Keith gripped hard on the bag in his hands. It was an old sports bag, filled with clothes taken from Shiro’s apartment and various toiletries, and – knowing how Shiro hated doing nothing – he had bought a few literary novels along the way to the hospital, along with a pack of cards and a stack of magazines. He looked down at the tiled floor in a frustrated silence, while Shay clasped a clipboard to her large chest with a saddened smile. It was a look of absolute pity, as if she wanted to allow him access and was unable with the same breath.

“I can take that to him,” said Shay, “if that will help you?”

“I’d rather give it him myself, thanks,” muttered Keith. “Look, I know this isn’t your fault, but you _have_ to let me in there! I know for a fact that Iverson was in there. Did he tell you not to let me see Shiro? You can just ask Shiro yourself . . . he’ll want to see me.”

“I cannot discuss his condition with you, due to patient confidentiality. I cannot allow you entry, as only immediate family and the emergency contact are permitted inside. You will simply have to return once he has recovered enough to be moved to another ward, during regular visiting hours, but – until then – I can pass on your regards.”

Keith bit the inside of his cheek, desperate to avoid lashing out. The anger was different this time, as it was borne out of helplessness and fatigue, and the fact he could see Shiro – so close and yet beyond his reach – made him feel a failure as a boyfriend. He was ready to give up, perhaps to leave a written letter with Shay, but he caught sight of a doctor heading down the corridor towards them. The man was an average looking fellow, but clearly distracted.

The doctor brushed past them, with a half-eaten apple in one hand and patient reports in the other, and – as he juggled awkwardly to press the password for the keypad – Shay took pity on him and helped him to open the door. There was a large waft of cool and air-conditioned air, along with the low hum of a radio that played the latest hits, and Keith caught the incessant natter of the nurses positioned at their station. Shay laughed at one of the doctor’s jokes, as he struggled through the door, and Keith took his one and only chance.

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Keith.

Keith pushed past the doctor and ran into the ward. There was the sound of dozens of folders falling over the floor, while Shay called out loud after him, and – as he made his way directly to Shiro – he heard the radio fall dead, as the nurses and staff began to mumble loudly between themselves about how to react. He threw the bag so that it slid across the floor and hit the leg of Shiro’s bed, where it jostled it just enough to wake the older man, and he skidded after it and grabbed onto the bedpost to stop himself.

There was little time to observe Shiro, as already people were attempting to drag Keith away and security was being called, but the chaos soon died away when Shiro said – with a choked breath and hoarse voice – to leave Keith alone. Those hands let go of him. Keith had barely even noticed them, as he shrugged them off and threw himself into the chair beside Shiro with a sigh of relief, even as he cursed the plastic feel of the material.

“It – It’s okay,” hissed Shiro. “I want him here.”

Keith watched as the doctors and staff moved away, while Shay – now out-of-breath and flushed about her face – looked between them with the type of frown that seemed too familiar for Keith to feel any pride about. He gave a pout and looked away from her. The pout soon faded from his face, as his eyes fell upon Shiro and saw him properly for the first time in three weeks, and what he saw was almost like looking into the eyes of a stranger.

Shiro was injured beyond belief. The blankets were pulled midway up his chest, so that they stopped roughly midway on his upper arms, and – across his chest – were dozens of small scars that criss-crossed in strange patterns. He missed the nipple on his right pectoral muscle, while there was a visible burn around his right shoulder, and there was a long cut across his nose, deep enough to be marked with stitches and slightly scabbed over. Shiro was pale beyond belief, with a drip in his left arm and tubes within his nose.

It was difficult to endure the sight, as Keith felt his heart break. He reached out to touch the side of Shiro’s face, only for his lover to wince and give a hiss of discomfort, and Keith – as he looked carefully at that cheek – realised it was bruised and possibly broken. Shiro appeared unable to focus his grey eyes, which wandered about Keith’s face with a strange sort of distance, and his lips were dry enough to look painful in themselves.”

“I will give you some privacy,” said Shay.

Shay came around to take a hold of the curtain. It was pulled around the bed to give them the illusion of privacy, even as she slid the call-button into Shiro’s hand, and Keith could see her shadow on the other side of the fabric. There were no windows on the ward that Keith could see, which led to a total reliance on artificial lights, and – as Keith strained his eyes and looked over his partner – he struggled to understand how this was the best place for Shiro. It was an awkward silence between them, as Keith drew in a shuddered breath.

“It’s good to see you,” whispered Keith.

He reached out underneath the sheet, as he took Shiro’s held hand. There was a plastic monitor on his index finger, while his hands felt clammy and cold, and – for a terrifying moment – Keith feared that he might lose Shiro . . . that he would be alone again . . . no parents, no friends, no boyfriend. It was difficult to be strong when he felt his world fall to pieces around him. He squeezed as hard as he dared, unwilling to hurt his lover.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” said Keith.

“You came . . . as soon as you c-could.” Shiro smiled. “I – I was asleep the first couple of days, still have no idea how they got me home . . . too many drugs, my head feels hazy . . . sedated me. I panicked. No one is telling me anything. How bad . . . is it?”

“Pretty damned bad.” Keith laughed despite himself, as he teased: “You make early morning bed-hair look appealing, Shiro. You just need some bed-rest; I bet you’ll be fine after a few days sleep, maybe a shave and a soapy sponge bath. I’d offer to play nurse, but I think you’re still too sick to appreciate it. Hey, an incentive to get better, right?”

“You’ll – you’ll take my temperature, too?”

“The old fashioned way? Sure.”

Shiro began to laugh, but it caused movements to his chest. The laughter turned into a hacking cough and a struggle for breath, only soothed when Keith – in a desperate panic – found a jug of ice water and poured a substantial amount into a glass. There was a straw that seemed out of place, until he realised that Shiro couldn’t sit upright and needed the straw to take any liquids. Shiro had never been the helpless sort in his life.

He took a few loud sips. Keith waited until Shiro was done, before he placed the glass back on the side and noticed some had fallen about his lover’s chin. He gave a silent curse and clenched his fists, as he tried to refrain from worrying Shiro any further, and instead reached out to wipe away the excess water and spit with a soft brush of his thumb. Shiro tried to kiss his fingers, but his head rolled back and he began to mumble something incoherent, until Keith was forced to wipe away silent tears. He drew in a staggered breath.

“I’m taking some time off school,” said Keith.

“Your – your s-scholarship -?”

“It’s still there waiting for me,” promised Keith. “Iverson says it’s officially down as compassionate leave, for my mental health, but I’m allowed to tell other students that I took a gap year off to do an internship for my studies. I get to save face that way.”

“No – no shame in . . . no shame in –”

“You have to stop talking, Takashi. Save your strength, okay? I – I’m not one for a lot of words, but I’m happy to try and hold up your end of the conversation. Just – just don’t make fun of me, okay? You know I’m no good at these things.” Keith held his hand once again. “I know there’s no shame in my condition, but a gap year raises less questions. That’s all.”

Shiro gave a low hum of contentment. He closed his eyes and let his head roll against the pillow, while Keith took the time to look about the tiny space set aside for the patient, and – as he looked – he saw that someone had brought in a family photograph. It was likely Iverson, as there was a stack of books that looked to be from Shiro’s personal library, which sent a cold shiver down Keith’s spine. If Iverson had a key to Shiro’s apartment, they could have easily have ran into one another. Shiro broke that realisation with a hushed few words:

“My arm – my arm is numb . . . cold.”

Keith nearly laughed at first, as it was true that it did feel cold. It was enough to open his mouth to make a teasing retort, before his eyes fell onto the other side of the bed, where he noticed how the blankets were indented in an unnatural manner. They seemed to flatten immediately above Shiro’s right elbow, where the blankets became unnaturally smooth with barely a wrinkle, and – as Keith looked – he felt his anxiety swell in his chest.

He reached out with a trembling hand. The blanket was rough and scratched at his fingers, enough that he could barely deal with holding it, and he knew – if he were the patient – they would be thrown from his body in an instant. Still, he drew back the material with frozen breath. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but he knew that this was far from anything he could have ever imagined. There was no arm. It was bandaged to hide the healing wound, but the remaining stub was noticeable . . . Shiro had lost his arm.

Keith wept in earnest.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith awoke with a start.

The bedroom was pitch black; it was difficult to adjust his eyes, even as the moonlight streamed in through the open windows, and the room felt alive with various shadows. There were odd figures on the opposite wall, where the lights from the streetlamps gave an artificial glow to various knick-knacks and objects, and Keith could make out strange reflections upon the television and windowpanes. He hated being awake during the night.

He ran a hand through his black hair, as he tried to ignore the visual stimulus. The sheets fell about his waist, reminding him of his nudity beneath them, and they were soft and smooth against his skin, which was a small comfort in itself. It was cold. Keith ran a hand over his arm and felt the goosebumps, as he cursed the way that Shiro feared closed spaces. It was only while he slept, otherwise okay with closed doors or closed windows, but when he slept that changed to the extent that even the sound of a closing door would jolt him awake.

There was a rustle of noise beside him.

Keith – as he blinked away sleep – looked to his right, where Shiro always slept. The older man was sat upright in their bed, with his legs over the side and feet pressed upon the floor, and it sent a wave of confusion through Keith. It was too early to be awake for the day, and he knew that Shiro always abided to his routine to a regimented extent, especially as he knew how routine comforted Keith in his worse moments. Keith rubbed at his eyes.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Keith asked.

He sat upright with a yawn. Keith fidgeted backward, as he adjusted the pillow behind him and leaned against the headrest, and let his head loll to the side to gaze upon his lover, while he listened to the sound of traffic outside. There were very few cars, but – with the windows thrown open so wide – he could hear every one on their way down the empty street, along with the occasional laughter from drunken pub-crawlers. Shiro seemed oblivious to all the lights and noise around them. He didn’t even respond to Keith.

It worried him, as he pulled the sheets about his waist. Shiro was hunched over; his left hand clutched the sheets beneath him until they creased, and – as he sat with eyes locked upon the floor – he looked almost vulnerable. There were criss-crossed scars all across his back, while his right arm was nothing more than a stump, and he sat in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs and nothing more. Keith saw a veil of sweat over his skin, as he panted for breath.

“Takashi, you’re starting to worry me.”

Keith reached out to touch Shiro’s shoulder. He barely let his fingertips brush against the skin, when that remaining arm struck out with such force that it knocked Keith backward. The younger man was thrown against the headboard, where his head hit against the wall behind him, and – as he cursed the pain and struggled to make sense of what happened – he saw that Shiro hyperventilated with his hair clenched within his hand. Keith felt his heart begin to race, as he made to reach out again to comfort his lover.

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” cried Shiro. “Don’t.”

“Takashi? I just thought –”

“I – I mean it, Keith. Don’t . . . touch me. Please.”

It was a devastating command to hear. Keith felt his eyes well up, as he looked away from Shiro to bedside table that was covered in old photographs. He wanted nothing more to go back into the past, where he knew how to comfort his lover, but instead he simply felt helpless and even rejected. Keith listened to Shiro breathe; he was slowly calming down, while his body moved with a rustle of fabric, and – after a few seconds – he seemed calm. It was difficult to know how to break the silence, as he continued to simply sit there.

Keith gently climbed out of bed, where he walked around to sit beside Shiro. He would have crawled over in the past, content to take the easiest mode of ‘transport’, but every jostle of the mattress would cause Shiro to tense and hiss, which made it almost impossible to crawl over without causing him great distress. Even sitting beside him, with a foot or so distance, caused the muscles on Shiro’s back to tense in a visible manner. Keith blinked away tears.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Keith asked.

“I – I thought it was _real_ ,” muttered Shiro. “I could have sworn I was there; I could see Haggar right above me, so much that I could _feel_ her breath on my face, and I – I kept hearing the questions she asked . . . I didn’t know . . . I _swear_ I didn’t know! They made me fight. They made me do things. I feel dirty . . . I – I can feel the blood on my hands.”

“It’s not real, Shiro.” Keith clenched his hands in frustration. “Did the counsellor give you anyway to ground yourself? He had to give you some coping mechanisms, right? I wish I knew how to make it go away, I really do, but it’s just . . . I don’t know. How can I help?”

“You – he was – I just -! Zarkon . . . I – I didn’t see him often. He ordered them to take my arm . . . nothing else could get me to talk . . . how could I talk? I didn’t know anything! Every time I smell bleach, I remember how they’d clean the room of the blood . . . every time someone moves suddenly, I think they’re going to hit me . . . I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep without seeing them! I – I just need to stay awake. That’s all. I can’t . . .”

Keith reached out to touch him. It was an instinct, borne out of a desire to provide some comfort, but Shiro – unable to differentiate between his loved ones and his abusers – shied away due to his newly instilled reflexes. There was nothing worse than to see his boyfriend lean away from him, with hand raised again to bury itself into hair, while the stump of his right arm flexed up and down as if the phantom limb sought to provide some usage. Tears ran down Shiro’s face, while Keith could only pull away his hand in confusion.

They sat in silence for a long moment, until Keith – unconcerned about his nudity – walked about the room and collected their clothing from the floor. It was the greatest sign that Shiro still struggled with his trauma, as he no longer cared about such messes, and Keith also realised that they also hadn’t been intimate in the few months since Shiro’s release. He swallowed hard, as he fought the fear that the abuse may have been more than just physical.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” Keith asked.

Keith dropped the clothes onto a nearby chair, as he pulled on an old pair of jeans. There was a faint look of comprehension from Shiro, who was dazed and confused, and soon the older man looked to him with a furrowed brow and eyes finally focussed. It was difficult to look at him in such a state. Keith wanted to help him through his recovery, but it was such a huge responsibility and he was unsure whether he was strong enough to be Shiro’s rock. He looked away in shame and realised he needed air. He needed to think.

“I’ll go get us some coffee,” said Keith.

“It’s closed,” murmured Shiro. “It’s too late.”

“Coran opens during the night sometimes.” Keith shrugged. “I hang out with Allura when I get a chance; they lost their family a while back, same war-zone that got you, and Coran likes to work throughout the night when he . . . when he can’t sleep. I’ll get decaf. We could maybe go together in the morning? Talk to him? Talk to them?”

Shiro nodded; it was difficult to be sure that he understood what was said, as his eyes were glassy and stared at some fixed spot upon the wall, and Keith wondered whether it was best to leave him alone in such a state. There was a bruise forming on his chest, where Shiro struck him out of fear, and Keith raised his hand to the spot with a touch of reticence, until he traced the bruise with the palm of his hand. He needed a moment of space.

The guilt and shame shot through Keith. He ran his hands over his face, physically and emotionally exhausted, until he pulled a jacket from the pile over clothes and wore it over his bare chest without much care for what people may have thought. Shiro continued to sit there, as Keith drew up the zip and checked his pockets for his wallet. He felt helpless. Shiro needed comfort and reassurance, but there was no way that Keith knew to fix his problems or stop his nightmares, while every night brought with it more and more pain.

“I’ll be right back,” promised Keith.

* * *

“Ugh, I see that _Keith’s_ back.”

Keith looked to the second row. There were three students, all immediately in front of him, and all talking just loud enough to be heard clearly by him. The one that spoke had dark brown skin, with shaggy brown hair, and – in some other universe – he might have been what someone would call ‘cute’. It was just a shame he hunched over his desk with head balanced on his hand, as he wore was an embarrassing pout for someone in his age group.

There was a girl to his right, with short hair and large glasses, who typed with a phenomenal speed upon the laptop in front of her, which – with a closer look – appeared customised and far more expensive than anything Keith could afford. The final part of the trio looked the friendliest of the group, although also the more exhausted from his companions’ attitudes and actions. He was a large man with a bandanna around his forehead, while he slouched backward in his chair with a loud sigh, and Keith looked at him with a sense of curiosity.

“Yeah, well, what can you do?” asked the larger man.

“Complain a lot, I’d imagine,” muttered the girl.

“Hey! I have every _right_ to complain,” replied the complainer. “You and Hunk just don’t _get_ it, but _some_ of us earned our scholarships and worked hard to be here! You heard the rumours, right? He’s the guy that got expelled for sleeping with a teacher. He was a straight-A student, too, but – hey – some of us _earn_ our grades. It’s so not fair, man!”

“It’s not fair that you can’t sleep with a teacher for grades?” Hunk teased. The other two shot him a dark look and he gave a nervous laugh. “I’m joking! I’m joking! Look, Lance, if the rumours were true, why the heck would they let him back in . . . that’s all I’m saying.”

“Maybe Shiro got him back in,” muttered Lance. “Right, Pidge?”

The girl – Pidge – gave a shrug of her shoulders.

The lecture room was different to how Keith remembered. Shiro had thrown open every last window, including those so high that they needed a special device to reach, and both sets of doors were kept permanently open with a padlock. It was the main concession to his post-traumatic stress; the rest of the room was pretty standard, as the rows of tables and chairs went relatively high up in the large space, and the blackboard was one of those rolling types that allowed for a great deal to be written without needing to be erased.

It was a pretty cold morning, even with the heating on full. The open classroom didn’t help matters, which was a cause of complaint from the few students that slowly filed inside, and Keith cursed being unable to wear scarves like the others. It was a strange thing to admit, but any pressure around his throat caused him to retch. The dislike of fingered gloves and scarves wasn’t often a problem, but today he was forced to fidget to keep warm.

Pidge in particular looked quite odd. The girl – despite being a few years younger, having skipped ahead through the academic years – wore only a thin pair of shorts and a loose shirt, which made Keith tempted to ask how she kept warm. He tried not to stare too much at the small group, as he felt afraid that his shame and frustration would show. The truth was that he had earned every grade given even by Shiro, to the extent that his first B-grade had devastated him and forced him to study harder, but he knew they would never believe that.

“Weird how they both had time off together,” said Lance.

“Aw, come on, dude,” said Hunk. “That wasn’t time off ‘together’! It’s common knowledge that Shiro was captured by Zarkon, and – like – wasn’t Keith in school for a good few weeks before he took time off? I’m _pretty_ sure he wasn’t expelled, either, so . . . yeah.”

“Just hacked the school records,” said Pidge. “Compassionate leave.”

“A year’s worth of compassionate leave? That’s totally –”

“Hey,” called Keith. “Behind you.”

He folded his arms across his chest, while three faces turned around. There was clear embarrassment from Hunk, who slouched with a nervous smile, while Pidge simply quirked an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. Lance looked somewhat putout; he leaned back against the wood of the desk, while his legs spread in an awkward manner about the metal stool, and the hanging lights overheard cast strange shadows on his face, as the breeze caused them to move in an odd rhythm. It was distracting to see those patterns.

“I can hear you, you know,” said Keith.

“Pfft, like, I know?” Lance rolled his eyes. “Some rival you are!”

“I don’t even _know_ you. I don’t even _remember_ you.”

There was a momentary fall to Lance’s expression. It was like Keith had dealt a physical blow, which caused him to furrow his brow in confusion, and – as he tried to remember all he learnt about body language and tone of voice – he tried to comprehend how someone who so blatantly disliked him would care that he had forgotten them. Lance turned his head away with a pout, while he shrugged and clasped his hands in his lap in an odd manner.

“I’m Lance? Your rival!”

“Are you that guy who got a scholarship because I wasn’t here?” Keith rolled his eyes. “They gave you a place on that course because they were a student short, they weren’t sure I’d come back. I’m pretty surprised they kept you around now I’m back.”

“Yeah, well, you may be a year older, but that doesn’t make you any better.” Lance gave a wide grin and pointed a thumb to his chest. “I have the whole future ahead of me. I even got a job here in the science labs. You just memorise this name and face, because I swear that I’m going to be one step ahead of you here on out, _Keith_.”

Keith opened his mouth to retort, but instead looked between Pidge and Hunk. It was difficult to process what was happening, especially when Lance flip-flopped between emotions without any seeming consistency, and – as he tried to understand the situation – he saw the class begin to fill almost to the brim. The first day back in class was always the most stressful; students would chatter and laugh and play-fight, so that the room was a cacophony of noise, and Keith never knew which noises to focus upon and which to filter out.

“Just stop spreading rumours about me and it’ll be fine,” snapped Keith.

“If they’re just rumours, why did you take time off?” Lance asked. “You were like _the_ best student the college had to offer, man! They say you flipped out on Iverson and got kicked out for bad behaviour, but – like – why would you do that if you weren’t –”

“I have a form of autism called Asperger’s.”

The silence that followed was awkward. Hunk looked in all directions, as he no longer knew where to look, and he clasped his hands behind his neck in an odd gesture, which made him look even larger than before. The other students were – thankfully – too far from them to overhear their conversation, but he could feel them looking over at him due to his preceding reputation. Lance simply narrowed his eyes and stared Keith down. He said in a cool voice:

“Huh, you don’t look autistic.”

“Funny, you don’t look like an asshole,” said Keith. “Guess looks are deceiving.”

Lance instantly reacted. He tried to jump over the desk, only to be yanked back by Pidge, who – with surprising strength and without a look in his direction – kept him in check with an open hand pressed against his chest. Lance fell back with a blush, but his hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides and his eyes were narrowed into a glare. There was a visible tension between the three friends. Hunk bit his lip in a nervous manner.

There were a lot of eyes in their direction, while a passing instructor paused in the doorway, and – as Pidge and Hunk gave rather forced waves – the older woman rolled her eyes and made her way down the corridor with a shake of her head. Pidge heaved a sigh of relief. It was difficult to know how to diffuse the situation, especially when Pidge leaned forward and began to massage her temples with a scowl upon her face, and – every time Lance made to move forward – she would smack his arm hard and point back to the stool.

“So can I ask a question?” Pidge asked.

“Sure, shoot,” said Keith.

“How does autism make you take a year off school?”

Keith made to speak, before he saw Shiro enter. He fought back a blush and looked away; they may have started living together, but they both knew there was too much to risk in being caught romantically involved. They took separate rides at separate times, while Keith used a friend’s address for all university correspondence, and yet – as he saw Shiro stand before the overhead projector with a forced smile – he couldn’t help but want to go over to him.

“It’s a routine thing,” said Keith.

“You always have time off?” Lance asked. “That’s lame.”

“No, I mean, I _need_ a routine.” Keith scowled and looked away. “I wake up at the same time every day, eat at the same times, eat the same things . . . everything is on a schedule and everything is planned in advance. It soothes me. The official reasoning – if Pidge feels like looking any further into confidential files – states that in specific.”

“Yeah, says it right here,” confirmed Pidge with a click. “Shiro was Keith’s teacher, but the change in routine – what with a new teacher and all – caused a massive bout of anxiety. It says Keith was given leave right after an argument with Iverson.”

“Shiro was pretty amazing with things. He accommodated my needs pretty well, so he was assigned as my mentor after a few months. I had some stuff in my private life going on, too, so that didn’t help much . . . you know what else doesn’t help? Rumours. I don’t know where this gossip came from that I’m sleeping with our professor, but it’s insulting to both Shiro and me. I work hard and Shiro is just doing his job. Show some respect.”

There was a new silence between the three of them. Lance looked over his shoulder to Shiro, while Keith followed his gaze; the professor stood close to a handful of students, where he laughed a deep and hearty laugh, and fussed about with various slides for the upcoming presentation. It was obvious all eyes would be on Keith and Shiro. They would have to refrain from excuses to stay behind after class, along with extra study sessions, and yet Keith couldn’t help but let his gaze wander over to Shiro every so many seconds.

The students at the front of the class soon left for their seats, which left Shiro alone before the projector, and – as if sensing the change in the atmosphere – the students quietened down and began to fidget with their belongings. There was a sound of a dozen or so laptops being opened, while various pieces of paper were shuffled about, and soon Shiro gave a loud clearing of his throat and rested his prosthetic arm on top of his desk.

“Okay class,” called Shiro. “Let’s get started.”

* * *

“Hey, Shiro, I bought coffee!”

Keith pushed the apartment door closed. It gave a soft click, as it locked behind him. There was the sound of a television from the main room, which gave off an annoying laugh track every few minutes, while – somewhere in the kitchen – he caught the scent of something cooking on the stove. The apartment was warm enough that Keith was able to kick off his shoes and leave his jacket on the hat-stand, before he headed off in search of his lover.

He followed the aroma, until he reached the kitchen. The design was open, with a bar between the lounge and cooking area, and – as Keith slid the coffee onto the counter – he looked across the white tiles to see Shiro by the stove. It was a handsome sight. Shiro was stirring something in a steaming pot, dressed in skin-tight black clothing with a white apron over his body, and every now and then he would wipe some sweat from his eye with the back of his organic hand. Keith watched with interest, as he leaned against the counter.

It felt good to watch Shiro cook. The older man moved his hips to a strange sort of rhythm, while the lights above him were soft and in a stylish pattern, so that he was illuminated from all angles and no shadows were cast about his frame. The aroma from the pots was rich and contained a hint of garlic, which probably meant Italian was on the menu. Keith looked around and saw various knives and chopping boards, which meant a lot to clear up later.

“You cook and I clean?” Keith asked.

Shiro gave a visible jump; it caused him to jerk the spoon upright, which sent sauce splattering across his apron, and – when he turned around – he was deathly pale. It was difficult to understand why at first. He saw Shiro’s hand tremble, while those eyes began to look unfocussed and dazed, and – with a glance down to the apron – Keith realised the source of the problem. The sauce looked just like a blood splatter. It looked like blood.

Keith gave a silent curse, as he ran around the counter to his boyfriend. It took some effort to undo the straps to the apron, as well as to remove it without causing Shiro further distress, but he soon managed to bundle up the fabric and threw it into the washing machine. There was no sign from Shiro that he recognised what Keith had done, as he simply stood there with a swaying motion, and – as Keith quickly pulled the saucepan from the ring – he guided Shiro over to a nearby kitchen stool and allowed him to sit down.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Keith.

“Huh? Oh, you didn’t.” Shiro forced a smile. “I just – it’s been a long day. I wanted to cook us a nice meal . . . celebrate our first week back at school, but I was startled when you sneaked up on me. I spilled the sauce. I thought . . . it reminded me of blood. I didn’t mean to freeze like that, but I – I felt this wave of fear . . . it was so cold . . . I don’t know.”

Keith sat beside him and reached out for his hand. It felt callused to the touch, rough from Shiro’s continuous and constant projects over the past year, and yet those hands were still warm and still innately Shiro. He ran his thumb over the palm, before he started to trace patterns along the fingers, and soon Shiro gave a small laugh, as he brought Keith’s hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss to the soft felt of his fingerless gloves. Keith smiled.

“You seem to be coping a lot better,” observed Keith.

“I guess a year of therapy has its benefits,” said Shiro. “You bought coffee?”

“Yeah, I figured it’d go well with dinner.” Keith gave an awkward smile. “Coran gave me a CD to give to you, too, says it always calms him down when he relapses, but it’s in my coat pocket. I’ll go get it later, maybe we can listen to it together?”

“I’d like that very much. We can play it during dinner.”

There was a small moment of silence, until Shiro heaved a long sigh. He moved to the various cabinets and removed two large plates, which he began to load with sauce and spaghetti in a rather heavy-handed manner. It was too much for either of them to eat, but Keith knew – with absolute certainty – any leftovers would be packed up for him to take to college the very next day. The aroma was absolutely delicious.

Keith left to find the CD; he returned to see that Shiro was setting the table, with the paper cups of coffee beside the main dishes, and a bowl of dairy-free cheese between them with the usual smile of Shiro, who feigned a polite interest in what Keith knew he disliked. The dinner looked almost professionally created, with a small rose just off to the side, and Keith almost felt an iota of guilt at turning his back to play the CD. There was an abrupt flow of music into the room, which quickly justified turning off the television, and it sounded . . . good.

“Classical,” said Keith.

There was a smile from Shiro who looked to him, which caused Keith to blush and look away in slight embarrassment. The music was beautiful; it featured heavily upon the violin, while keeping a slow and rhythmic pace, and the melody reminded Keith of something he once heard during his childhood. He slid into the seat opposite Shiro, who was already beginning to eat the homemade meal, although – every so often – he would pause and close his eyes, where he simply listened to the music with a serene expression.

“I guess Coran was right,” said Keith.

“I’ll have to thank him tomorrow morning.” Shiro opened his eyes and looked to Keith. “In the meantime, do you want to talk about your week? I saw Lance giving you some trouble, and I know the rumours are still going around like they did in our first year.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Keith gave a low moan, as he took a bite. “This is delicious, Shiro. You’ll have to teach me how to cook it next time. Still, I’m more worried about how the rumours are affecting you . . . I can deal with Lance, plus Pidge and Hunk have actually become pretty good friends, but how are you dealing with things?”

Shiro looked down at his plate with a saddened expression. There was a somewhat wet sound as he chewed upon his food, which was like nails on a chalkboard, and Keith – so sensitive to such sounds – felt grateful for the music that nearly drowned it out. Keith watched as his partner pushed around the spaghetti, as the fork made sharp grating noises upon the plate, before he took a few bites and let the pause linger between them. It was enough make Keith think that Shiro was avoiding the question altogether, as he gave a hiss of breath.

“Not too bad, I’d say,” said Shiro.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming,” teased Keith.

“It’s Iverson.” Shiro took another slow bite. “He is still pretty suspicious about us, but I don’t think he will be too much of a problem. We’ve cut back on being seen in public, while we don’t spend time alone together at college . . . I think we’re good, Keith. I’m going to start looking for work at other schools, that way we can be open about things.”

“Yeah, but what about the students? It pisses me off every time I hear them whispering behind my back. I _earned_ my grades. I worked damn hard every night on my essays and research and -! Doesn’t it drive you insane to be disrespected like that?”

“It hurts me more to see _you_ hurt, Keith. Trust me, I experienced pain unlike any other when I was under Zarkon . . . there were those that tried to inflict emotional abuse, too, who used my worst fears against me. I won’t say that the students’ rumours don’t hurt, but – well – if the worst they can say about me is that I’m giving free grades to someone I love -? I consider that a blessing in itself. I can’t be that bad of a guy, right?”

Keith rolled his eyes with a smile. It felt good that Shiro was still able to find some positive perspective, and Keith knew that – in a way – he was right . . . there were far worse assumptions and insults that people could make about Shiro, but instead they could only make allusions to his relationship with Keith. They were only just starting to regain physical intimacy, but – when Keith looked and saw his lover’s innocent smile and beautiful eyes – he couldn’t help but wish for something more. Keith shook his head and teased:

“You’re not supposed to find the bright side to this, Takashi.”

“Why not when my bright side is right in front of me?”

There was a speck of sauce on Shiro’s chin, while his hair was slightly mussed from where the apron earlier caught in its locks, and the grin on his face was so goofy that Keith felt almost like a child again, as if this were nothing more than a play-date between them. Keith rolled his eyes with a smirk, before he took a pinch of cheese and threw it across the table at Shiro, who batted it away with his prosthetic arm and a feigned gasp of surprise.

“Just shut up and eat your food,” murmured Keith.

Shiro gave a long and loving laugh.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Keith let out a low moan.

He let one hand work its way into Shiro’s hair, while the other clawed at the rough brick. It was almost a case of sensory overload; the hair was soft like silk, as it ran between and over his fingers in a distracting manner, while the cold air struck at his exposed stomach and upper legs. The trousers restricted movement, although Shiro also knelt immediately before him, and the dumpster just to his left – blocking them from sight – gave out a bad scent.

Keith gave another whine, as Shiro did what he did best. He threw back his head, while he looked up at the night sky, and tried to count the stars to try and stop the pleasure from ending too soon. There were soft slurps from his lover, sounds that always made Keith self-conscious when he returned the favours, and Keith – so nervous about being caught – continued to send furtive glances down the alleyway. No one had noticed him so far. If anyone did look, they would only see him standing there, with Shiro out of sight.

“We – we will get caught,” muttered Keith.

There was a pinch upon his leg, which made him cry out. He looked down with a glare, only to see dilated and mischievous eyes looking up at him, before he was taken to the hilt and those callused fingers worked on other parts of him. Keith began to lose control. He let go of the wall to bite into his hand; the muffled scream was loud enough for Shiro to hiss in warning, but not enough for him to stop Keith from tugging on Shiro’s hair out of instinct, as he continued to writhe and sob with pleasure. A few body shudders later, it was over.

Keith felt Shiro pull away. He looked down – flushed red and covered in a warm sweat – to see that his older lover bore a few white droplets upon his cheek and chin, which was almost enough for Keith to feel himself grow aroused once more. There was a look of discomfort upon Shiro’s expression, as he wiped his face down with a tissue from his pocket, and quickly he reached over to Keith and wiped him down in turn. Keith frowned.

“Didn’t you enjoy that?”

“You pulled my hair near the end,” said Shiro.

It took Keith a second to understand. He reached down – no longer caring that his length was exposed – and ran his hand through Shiro’s hair, until the gently stroking caused his lover to close his eyes with a peaceful smile. There was a stab of guilt, as he remembered how hair pulling could so easily trigger a flashback for Shiro. It was a testament to his strength and recovery that he appeared to be coping with Keith’s instinctive action. Keith bit his lip and continued to stroke that white-streaked hair, until he said with a soft voice:

“Do I need to be spanked, Daddy?”

Shiro burst out into laughter. It was so loud and sincere that Keith laughed in turn, until both men were breathless and close to tears, and – even though it hadn’t been that funny initially – it felt so _good_ to simply laugh and share in the laughter. The town was so quiet in the evening, enough that they were sure to attract attention, and yet Keith could only care about the way Shiro’s eyes crinkled at the corners, as well as how his eyes streamed with tears of happiness. Shiro stood upright and wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist.

“Stop it,” said Shiro. “You know I’m not into that.”

“Aw,” teased Keith. “But you’re so good to your baby.”

Shiro reached up to flick his forehead. It was a painful gesture, but one borne from playfulness and not from aggression. Keith gave a sharp pout, as he ran his hands up his lover’s chest and allowed them to rest upon his shoulders, and – careful not to trigger a depressive episode by touching the prosthetic arm – he let his thumbs trace patterns along the long column of neck. Shiro went back to holding him about his waist.

They stood together in a beautiful moment, where there was only the sound of the music from within the café and the occasional roars of laughter from faraway drunks, and – even though it was far from romantic – it felt perfect. Shiro rested his forehead against Keith, so that they simply looked into one another’s eyes. It still felt cold about his groin area, but he rather enjoyed the feeling of Shiro’s rough jeans against his bare legs, and he only regretted that he couldn’t spread his limbs further to accommodate Shiro between them.

It was clear that Shiro was getting ideas. Keith listened to the way his breath quickened, while his organic hand began to trail underneath Keith’s shirt, and those fingers began to move wonderful patterns against his spine. Their apartment was only down the block, less than a five-minute walk, and Keith swallowed hard at the realisation they could be back in their bedroom with barely any distraction to their activities. He smiled and said:

“Okay, so I was thinking –”

“Are you chaps still -? Q _uiznak, I – I – I didn’t see anything!_ ”

Keith struggled to register what happened. He glanced to his right to see Coran; Shiro gave a loud curse and fumbled about with Keith’s trousers, while Keith – as he looked over to see the red-haired man spin around and babble aimlessly to himself – suddenly realised that they had been caught in a post-coital embrace in an alleyway. The mortification began to seep in, as his face paled considerably and his heart fell straight into his stomach.

The trousers were done up, which enabled him to keep some modesty. Shiro automatically came to stand in front of him, as if there were still some reason to protect him, but it was a fact that made Keith smile with great affection. He was usually the one to dive in front of Shiro; whether it was with someone accidentally walking in on them, or standing up to someone with homophobic comments, Keith was always the one to protect his lover and it was nice to see his lover was willing to defend him in turn. Keith gave a blush.

“Coran, we were just -!”

Keith nearly died of embarrassment when Coran turned around. The red-haired man held a gloved hand in front of his eyes, while his other hand waved a pointed finger in the air, and his large moustache did little to hide the red flush to his cheeks. There was a black bag of trash next to his legs, while Keith – with a curse of frustration – noticed the back door to the café was barely ten feet away from them. Shiro scratched at his neck with a nervous smile.

“We’re decent, Coran,” said Shiro.

There was a long and awkward pause. Coran slowly cracked a gap between his fingers, like he was attempting to make a V-sign with all his digits, and – with an exaggerated opening of his eye – looked between the two of them with a long glance of observation. Keith gave a wave, confused and unsure how to react. It seemed enough for Coran to pull his hands away, where he reached down to lift up the trash, and he held it before him almost like a shield. It was almost funny to watch, while the music flowed out loud through the open doors.

“We _are_ a family establishment, fellows,” said Coran.

“I know, we – ah – just . . . forgot where we were,” replied Shiro. “I know it’s not late in the evening, and I know you get people of all ages in the café, so it was irresponsible of us to – well – do . . . _that_. . . here. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Well, that isn’t _really_ my main concern, Shiro.”

Coran heaved a long sigh, as he walked toward them. It was difficult to read his intentions, but – as he moved around them and opened the dumpster – it was abundantly clear that he sought only to fulfil his chores. Keith watched with a minor sense of curiosity, as Coran moved back towards the back door of the café, where he paused to look back at them with a stern and somewhat cold expression. The gloved hand rested on the doorknob, while Coran pursed his lips in thought. Shiro looked away with an expression of shame.

“I know what you’re going to say, Coran,” said Shiro.

“Well, I won’t stoop to give you a lecture, as Lord knows you’re grown up enough to be aware of the consequences of your actions, but I will say this: if I catch you here again, I’ll be obliged to tell the university. Ah, I – er – promise not to mention this to Lance, either; I love that boy to death, but we all know he’s not one to keep a secret.”

“There’s really no need to tell the university anyway.” Shiro raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “It’s Keith’s third year and I’m looking for work elsewhere, so we’ll be perfectly okay to date soon enough . . . thanks for not telling Lance, though.”

“Seriously, he’s been working here one week – _just one_ – and I’ve heard more secrets about the students and the customers than I’d ever want to know! Do you know I -?”

There was no knowing the rest of the question. Coran had walked through the doors into the staff-room, where the door automatically closed behind him and cut off his speech, which left Keith with arms folded and head cocked in disbelief. The excuse Lance often gave for Coran’s scatter-minded behaviour, as if anything could possibly explain it, was that Coran had lived a long and difficult life, as such there were too many memories to properly sort and prioritise, leading to odd reactions. Keith raised an eyebrow in thought.

Shiro cut short his train of thought, as he turned and took Keith’s hands. He gave a chaste kiss to each of Keith’s palms, before he looked up with a typical mischievous glint to his eyes, before he nodded over to the head of the corridor. Keith smiled in response, as he followed his gaze and reassured himself there was nobody watching them. It was a mistake. Shiro was already on his feet and running towards the head of the alley.

“Race you to the apartment,” Shiro called. “I’m winning!”

“You’re such a child, Takashi Shirogane!”

* * *

“Guess who?”

Keith rolled his eyes, as a pair of arms encircled him. He leaned his head back against a warm chest, while his hands came down to rub long lines along Shiro’s organic arm, and – as he drew in a deep scent of his lover’s cologne – he felt at home. It was good to be held. Shiro rested his chin in the crook of Keith’s neck, where he placed small and chaste kisses, and it was difficult to concentrate when he knew how easy it was to give into temptation.

The apartment was rather warm. Keith loved the faux fireplace, something he hoped they could one day have for real, and the patterned lights were a small comfort, even in his darker moments throughout the past few years. There was a full moon outside, which allowed in a great deal of natural light through the balcony doors, and Keith – whose shoulders sagged in relief – felt grateful they could finally sit outside without fear of being seen. He caught the scent of wine placed on a low-table by the counter, where he saw a makeshift ‘love nest’.

Shiro had thrown a selection of pillows and blankets around the table, which was set with a pristine cloth and covered with an array of foods, and it was clear that this was a celebration of their last enforced ‘indoors’ date. The classical music that played was the same CD that played during their first kiss, and Keith felt a swell of pride that Shiro would even remember something so sentimental. He gave a smirk and bit his lip to prevent laughter.

“Lance?” Keith teased. “Is that you?”

There was a deep laugh from Shiro, who swung him around, so that Keith could lock his arms behind his lover’s neck and look deep into his eyes. It was almost impossible to believe that nearly four years had passed; the scar on Shiro’s nose stood as a testament to all that had changed, except the smile on his lips was so sincere and innocent that it wiped away all the pain, and it was almost as if those bad few months were a bad dream. Shiro shook his head and place a kiss to Keith’s forehead, before he asked with a throaty laugh:

“You developed a sense of humour?”

“Hey, I can be funny when I try to be,” muttered Keith.

“Really? Let me know when you start.” Shiro laughed, as Keith struck his organic arm with a pout. “Okay, I’ll be serious! I wasn’t expecting you back for another hour, so you took me by surprise. I was hoping to maybe have time to wrap your gift, but instead I come out of the bedroom and I find you here like an angel. Still, I have something else I can give you . . .”

“If it’s your penis, that’s the worst come-on I’ve ever heard.”

“Your mind jumps to some very dirty places.”

Shiro laughed again, as he leaned down for a kiss. It was a romantic gesture, far removed from anything sexual or from any expectations, and Keith allowed himself to enjoy the moment for the intimacy it provided. There was a taste of chocolate on Shiro’s lips, something that he relished as they pulled apart, and – with a blush that reminded him of their first kiss – Keith looked away with a shyness he still couldn’t shake after all the time between them. He felt Shiro’s hand run through his hair, before his boyfriend asked:

“Can we sit down?”

Keith gave a nod and sat next to the table. It felt odd to sit cross-legged, even more so when he noticed the packet of juice on the table, and – with a smile – he realised that Shiro had attempted to make their upcoming meal one of all Keith’s favourite foods. The scents from the kitchen were from an Italian dish, probably lasagne, and the items on the table were all catered to his lactose intolerance, including the melted chocolate that Shiro always pretended to like, despite his grimaces. Keith reached out for one of the cherries.

He watched as Shiro sat opposite him, albeit with awkward movements. The prosthetic arm was still a sore point for Shiro, who found it difficult to fully manage and often felt anxiety when others touched, and the scars around his joints made them hard to bend, so that often kneeling or sitting cross-legged could be a chore. There were good days and bad days, with today falling somewhere in the middle, and yet – despite that – Shiro smiled.

“I wanted to tell you the good news,” said Shiro.

Keith looked across the table. Shiro looked almost like his old self; those days he was always so playful and even childlike, with a constant smile on his face and a jump to his step, and he was often forgetful or even clumsy, so that Keith often felt more like his keeper than his lover. It was a part of Shiro he feared lost. The past few years had slowly brought more of him back, but this time balanced with his newfound maturity and responsible nature. There was nothing better than the times when the old Shiro shone through.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Keith teased.

“The way we’re going, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Shiro smirked, as Keith rolled his eyes. “Look, I did get you a real present, but I also wanted to get you something . . . well . . . more meaningful and something more beneficial for us as a couple. You’ve applied to do your post-graduate degree, right? Well, I don’t want our relationship to hold you back, so –”

“Okay, I _know_ this isn’t a break-up, Shiro, because that wouldn’t exactly be a ‘gift’. I also know that there’s no way you’re pregnant, no way that you’ve found a new place, and no way that you’ve got a promotion with Iverson still around, so . . . what is it?”

“Impatient much?” Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re now officially down on the lease, so we don’t have to rush to find another place, although I still think we _could_ do with somewhere larger, especially if we want a family in the future . . . _don’t give me that look_! I said ‘the future’, not that we should adopt right this second.” Shiro gave a soft laugh. “Okay, what I wanted to tell you is that I got a new job! I start right after summer.”

Keith held back a blush. It felt cruel to admit that he already knew, as Iverson had been quite persistent in leaving messages on their answering machine, but – as Keith gave a warm smile – this was their last date hiding away from the world, which was all that mattered. Keith reached out across the table for Shiro’s hand, which reached back in turn, and they simply allowed themselves to clasp hands upon the tabletop. It felt good to share in the intimacy, especially as Shiro looked so excited about finally being an open couple.

“A new job where?” Keith asked.

There was a slight blush to Shiro’s cheeks, as he looked down to his prosthetic. It was an expression of shame or embarrassment, as if he were taking a huge step down, and Keith began to fear the worst for a long moment, as they relied solely on Shiro’s wages to maintain the apartment and make rent. Keith squeezed his lover’s hand, where he felt a great surge of relief when Shiro squeezed back and seemingly found his confidence once more.

“I’ll be working in a high school,” admitted Shiro.

“A high school? But isn’t that -?”

“It pays a _lot_ less, but the hours are better.” Shiro gave a shrug. “I can’t keep working at the college, Keith. I want us to be _free_ to just be a couple; I’m not ashamed of you or our love, but we can’t go on dates or post pictures or even openly talk about one another. It’s a sacrifice, but it’s worth it. Starting next week -? We can go on a _real_ date.”

Keith froze for a brief moment. It was something he expected, but it was the first time directly confronted with the reality they could finally be an open and honest couple. He looked across the table to his lover, who looked back with a deep sense of expectancy, and he gave a bright smile as the news was finally processed. Keith hoped for lunch-dates at work, evenings spent in restaurants, or just to be able to walk side-by-side home together, after a long day at school and college. He squeezed Shiro’s hand and gave an exhale of breath.

“It’s kind of weird,” said Keith. “We spent nearly four years hiding our relationship, so it’s hard to believe we just be together like that . . . what about all the other stuff? Do I finally get to be your emergency contact? Do I finally get to have my mail delivered here? What about – you know – way into the future . . . could we even get married?”

“I think it means all of those things,” admitted Shiro. “We can go as fast or as slow as you want, Keith. I know my leaving means I won’t be there for your post-graduate work, and I know how much your routine means to you, but I’m here – _always_ – to help you.”

“I think I’ll adjust.” Keith gave a warm smile. “So we’re free?”

“We’re free, Keith,” said Shiro.

Shiro squeezed his hand, while they simply sat in a comfortable silence. There was the sound of music playing through the air, while outside there came occasional noises from passers-by, and Keith could hear the loud thrum of his heart within his ears. It was the first day of their future, something hard to comprehend, and Keith wanted to treasure every second together, as they were finally able to plan for what was before impossible. Keith brushed away a tear with the back of his free hand, as he kept his eyes locked upon Shiro.

“So when can we make our first real date?”

“How about right now?” Shiro asked.

* * *

Keith gave a yawn over his coffee.

It was easy to resent their early morning, after pulling an intense all-nighter. Keith felt an ache in his wrist from constantly typing upon his computer, while his fingers were covered in various paper-cuts, and his eyes ached from the strain. The scent of the coffee was a relief. He often asked Coran for his secret, but – so far – the only response had been ‘an old Altean recipe’, which was enough to gain a groan of frustration when already so exhausted.

The table was seated close to the window. Keith caught a few students do double-takes, as they passed by and saw the two men sat intimately opposite one another, and he would often roll his eyes with a low sigh at their reactions. It was still dark that morning; the sky was a beautiful shade of purple, as black slowly disappeared to make room for blue, and the breeze was cold enough that it brought forth steam upon every breath. The only upside was that it was relatively warm inside the café, which was filled with the aroma of freshly baked goods.

“Makes you miss the school holidays,” observed Shiro.

Keith felt a squeeze upon his hand. It was only in the past few weeks that they could hold hands in public, with fingers intertwined and thumbs tracing patterns upon palms, and Keith – with a warm smile and half-lidded eyes – squeezed back with affection. Shiro looked a lot more perky in comparison; he slept soon after grading papers and finishing lesson plans, in bed no later than eleven, and he had slept so deeply that he hadn’t even noticed when Keith closed the windows to keep warm. Shiro wore a bright smile, with even brighter eyes.

They simply watched one another, relishing in the moments before they parted ways for work and college, and listened to the various sounds of the café about them. Sendak cursed from the kitchen, where he would remain out of sight for the duration of their stay, while Allura rushed back and forth to place the pastries on display, and Coran – talking loudly to Allura, who appeared not to be listening – cleaned the countertops with exaggerated movements.

There came a cough from beside them. Keith looked up to see Lance in full uniform; the blue apron actually suited him rather well, although the look was rather ruined by the pout to his lips and the way he clenched the pencil in his hand like a sword. He clearly was uncomfortable serving his self-proclaimed ‘rival’, while he kept his eyes locked upon his pad of paper with an unnerving focus, and – as Lance rolled his eyes and looked away – he caught a faint blush on his lover’s cheeks. It was enough to make Keith smile again.

“Yo, you guys want food?” Lance asked.

“Whatever happened to customer service with a smile?”

“Whatever happened to dating within your own age range, huh?”

Keith rolled his eyes; he felt Shiro pull his hand away, although it appeared the gesture was a practical one, as he covered his mouth in an almost subtle manner, which – by the seems of things – had the effect of hiding his laughter from the two younger men. It was a temptation to kick him underneath the table, except that he knew Shiro was often easily triggered by unexpected touches, and so he sent a glare across the table in hope that Shiro would get the hint. Shiro eventually put on a serious face and turned to Lance:

“That is a fair point, Lance,” said Shiro. “How old is Coran again?”

There was a deathly silence from Lance. He turned a dark shade of red, as he visibly pulled back with a half-open mouth, and – as Lance sent a surreptitious glance to Coran – the red-haired man waved at him with a wide and expression gesture. It caused Lance to jump and look between both sets of people with increasingly anxious expressions, before he decided to settle upon ‘frustration’ and slammed his notepad into his apron pocket. He yelled out:

“Okay, that’s it, you’re both getting pie!”

Lance stormed away with a typical sense of childishness, as Coran handed him a tray filled with various plates and napkins and cutlery. It was almost entertaining to watch Lance fuss about finding the pie, as well as setting the tray to look the usually artistic style for which the café was known, and yet Keith turned back to face his lover with a warm smile. Shiro wrapped his hands around his cup, although his prosthetic fingers were clearly at odds with his other hand, creating an odd scene that didn’t look entirely natural.

They both waited until said pie was delivered, before either one spoke. Keith was the first to notice the familiar handwriting that said ‘on the house’ with a smiley face, written onto a napkin tucked just underneath the largest slice, and he looked over to Coran and waved in gratitude of the gesture. Shiro took a noisy sip of his coffee, enough to make Keith flinch in a very slight manner, which caused his boyfriend to whisper an apology to him.

“Pidge is arranging a group holiday,” said Keith.

“Huh?” Shiro took another sip. “That came out of nowhere.”

“Sorry, it just came to me.” Keith took a bite of the pie. “Hunk will be inviting Shay, while Lance is bringing along Allura and Coran, and Pidge says her family will be there, too. I asked if I can bring you; Lance thinks of you as his hero, while Pidge still won’t stop talking about your research with her father, and – well – I think they’re onboard.”

“It’d be our first holiday as an open couple. I wouldn’t mind a vacation, so long as they arrange it to match up with the school holidays, and it would be nice to see you in swim-shorts covered in seawater. I might have to take photographs.”

“It’s a camping trip,” said Keith with a laugh. “No beaches.”

“Well, we can fall asleep to the stars, instead.”

Keith fought back an urge to roll his eyes, as he pushed Shiro’s pie towards him. The older man smiled that warm and affectionate smile that spoke only of love, as he cocked his head in observation of Keith and let his eyelids lower, and – as he watched with an intent gaze – Keith had never felt more loved in his life. He reached out across the table to take Shiro’s hand in his own, as he held tight in an attempt to remind himself that they had crossed through the worst, and now they were finally together, without a need to hide.

“So it’s a yes?” Keith asked.

There was a long pause; Shiro leaned forward and brought Keith’s hand to his lips, where he placed an affectionate kiss and looked up at him with a sense of romance. Keith blushed despite himself, as he looked away with a sense of vulnerability, before he caught the short and gentle laugh from Shiro. He felt tears begin to rise when Shiro said warmly:

“With you, it’s always a ‘yes'."


End file.
